Seasons of Our Hearts
by Watson-HolmesGEN2
Summary: Emelia, daughter of Sherlock Holmes, and Crystal, adopted daughter of John Watson, have been inseperable friends for as far back as they can remember, tied to together by their rebellion against normalcy and their fathers' past. This is the canvas on which nearly a decade of their lives are painted, the sadness, hardship, fear, and joy. (Includes Johnlock)
1. The First Summer

**Welcome to this story by TwoMoon'sLite and littleblackneko, AKA Watson-HolmesGEN2! It will be told in a specific way. During the summer, they are at the Watsons, During Christmas break, they are at the Holmeses, and in between will be Interludes, in which we show messages (i.e. letters, texts, and emails) that have been sent. We really hope you enjoy this collab of ours! Review please people because I am just self conscious like that.**

THE FIRST SUMMER 2023

Little Emelia Holmes's eyes widened as she beheld the box her uncle was carrying.

"Mymy!" she yelled, bouncing over to her uncle.

"Hello Emelia. Where are your parents?"

"Mommy is at da store and Daddy is in his lab," She said pointing to a closed door, which had been comically plastered with radiation symbols, "He doing 'speriments."

"Well, why don't we get him and call Mommy so you can open your birthday present, hmm?"

The now six-year-old girl's eyes widened and she ran into the kitchen. She hurried back to her uncle with the housephone. "Here, Mymy. You call Mommy," she ran over to the door and stood on her tiptoes. She started pounding on the door, alternating her tiny fists. "PAPA! PAPA! MYMY IS HERE, PAPA!

"Have I taught you nothing? Tell him to piss off!"

"But Papa, it's my birthday and there's a present!"

"Already with the bribery, Mycroft. You start them young."

"Shall I take back the nitrogenous sodium samples then, Sherlock?"

"Papa, stop fighting with Mymy and come out. I wanna open my present!" She crossed her arms and pouted, and Mycroft almost laughed at how cute she looked pouting.

Sherlock opened the door and stuck his head out, looking around then finally down to his daughter, smoke drifting up from his hair that no one exactly wanted to question. Emelia was using it to her advantage that she was fairly close to being her father's twin to get what she wanted. He begrudgingly paced out into the sitting room and flung himself dramatically on the couch, "Alright, let's get on with this."

"But Papa, Mommy isn't home yet."

A dark-haired woman chose that exact moment to throw open the door. "Mycroft, dear, how are you? Oh Sherlock, do stop sulking, it is our daughter's birthday," She said, adding the last part upon noticing her husband on the couch.

"Irene, lovely to see you as well. I stopped by to give Emelia her present."

Emelia looked up from her father to her mother. "Can I open it now?" she asked quietly, eyeing the box Mycroft was still holding.

Irene smiled at her daughter and nodded.

Before he could realize it (or Irene could take back her okay), Emelia had extracted the present from Mycroft's grip and was tearing it open.

Sherlock thought his brother would get the six-year-old something outrageous. A computer. A cell phone. A copy of all of Parliament's laws dating back to the birth of the government. He had not expected the actual gift though. So one can imagine the speed with which Sherlock Holmes sat up and peered over the back of the couch when he heard, "KITTENS!"

There, crawling out of the box were two small cats. One was a brown-gray tabby with bright blue eyes and long hair. The cat crawled out of the box, looked around dissatisfied, and proceeded to sit and lick his paw while glaring at the box. A second kitten was poking his head out of the box. He yawned and crawled out lazily, looking at the people with interest, his gray eyes calculating in a way everyone quickly realized was VERY similar to Sherlock's.

Emelia picked up the black kitten, which mewed at the contact. She touched her nose to his and set him down.

"Thank you Mymy!" she looked so excited that Mycroft could not help the smile that found its way onto his face.

"You're welcome Emelia. I, of course, will be providing everything for their care, at least at first."

Sherlock glared at his brother.

Irene knelt down to Emelia. "What are their names?"

"The black one is Sherlock and the brown one is Mycroft."

"WHAT?" Both men simultaneously looked at Emelia, who squeaked and curled in on herself a little.

Irene laughed, "Why those names?"

Emelia immediately brightened. "That one," she pointed to Sherlock the cat, "has Papa and my eyes. He's skinny like Papa and he looks like he's deducing people. The other one has a belly like Mymy's and eyes like Mymy's too. And the color matches too!"

At his niece's reasoning, Mycroft laughed with his sister-in-law. How had such a serious man like Sherlock conceived such a cute, funny child? Sherlock glared at the cat that shared his name, and then was surprised to be met with a glare that was indeed strikingly similar to his.

"No."

"Oh, Papa!"

"Sherlock."

"Irene."

Your... OUR daughter is keeping the cats and you will NOT experiment on them. Need I remind you of Charlie the lizard?"

["Mommy, you said Charlie ran away with his girlfriend cuz they were in love and that's what people do when they're in love."]

In order to avoid a full-scale Holmes on Holmes explosion, the topic was quickly changed by Em's mum, "Oh, Emelia, you got post from Crystal.'

The little girl's demeanor instantly changed. "WHERE DID YOU PUT IT WOMAN?"

Sherlock shook his head as daughter performed a thorough search of anything she could reach, searching for her best friend's post.

Irene walked to the kitchen and grabbed the letter. She waved it in the air to grab her child's attention. The girl saw it and ran over, jumping in the air and waving her small arms as if it could get her closer to it.

"GIVE IT!"

'Emelia, manners. Say the magic word."

The girl looked puzzled for a moment. "Now?" Then her face lit up and she pulled the cutest, most unignorable grin. "Please!"

When the papers finally landed in her palms, she all but massacred the seal to get to the letter inside, from her friend that lived cross-country, the adopted daughter of her father's best friend and former flat mate John, Crystal Watson. Conveniently, the girls had locked into an extreme level of closeness the moment they met. Almost similar to John and Sherlock's former bond, before Sherlock started dating Irene.

The adults looked on as Emelia read the letter aloud, tripping over her words in her excitement. She read:

Dear Em,

Dad and I have finished our move to Stratford! We have a lot of extra space and there's a barn out back which a lot of stray animals have made their home in, and there's a tree fort on the property in which I've been waterproofing and dog proofing (Small, floppy little thing, since I couldn't name him John, as a little kick I named him Jawn: said with that exact inflection). The space is giant and brilliant and I finally have space for all my books and CDs. Which brings me to my point... As a birthday present for your sixth and my eighth DAD SAID HE'D PAY FOR YOU HOLMSES TO COME STAY WITH US FOR THE SUMMER! It will be absolutely brill Em. Can't wait to see you (and maybe start up our writing operations again)

With all my feels, Crystal Cecelia Watson

Emelia smiled largely. "PAPAPAPAPAPAPA! JAWN'S PAYING FOR US TO VISIT!"

Mycroft smiled."Well, happy birthday Emelia. I'll have the kittens' items dropped off in the morning. Goodbye Emelia, Sherlock, Irene. Kittens."

"Bye Mymy!"

Sherlock ignored his brother, still glaring at Sherlock the kitten, who glared right back. Irene walked her brother-in-law out. "Emelia, why don't you write Crystal to tell her you and Sherlock are coming?"

"The cats too, right? Crys says there's lots of space!"

"Yes, Emelia, the cats too."

The small girl ran to her very blue bedroom and pulled out a piece of paper and began writing.

Crys woke up early that morning, which had annoyingly become habit since the sun's rays felt like burning her eyes out at half past eight, she rolled until she fell off the bed and landed by where her iPod touch lay, checking her emails before groggily pacing to her bathroom. She arranged her hair (Shortish and somewhere between brown and blonde) into some semblance of a human form and shrugged on her white shirt and faux leather vest along with some cargo shorts. She slowly stumbled down the stairs into the dining room, popping in a bagel to the toaster, pouring some of the more sugary iced tea in the fridge for herself, and rubbing Jawn's shaggy little brown head. Dad was nowhere around. Well that fit according to plan very well.

"Don't tell," She declared to her dog as she proceeded to decorate her breakfast with a quarter stick of butter and far too much parmesan cheese. She gulped some tea before shaking just a bit more awake.

She was about halfway through when she heard her dad on the stairs. Busted. 'Crystal, that is really not healthy for you..."

"Ugh, why do you have to be a doctor? Why can't I just get fat like a normal person?" She intended to say that, but what came out through her stuffed mouth was ,"Ghwaddrwhftlinrmmlprn," She swallowed the last bit and looked expectantly at her father for any news, be it what happened at his new clinic that deserved reporting, an anecdote from the past, or what new creature had turned up in the hazardous barn this morning (yesterday was a snake that was in no way wild, but they still got to keep due to the fact that the owner was an old woman who said she couldn't take care of him anymore. As a jest, she had named him Jim, causing her Dah to glare.

"Letter from Emelia came today, Crys." His eyes were hazed over, signifying a long and stressful night at the clinic. Not to mention, neither of them were exactly morning people. She found said letter on the table and tore it open eagerly, and began to read:

Dearest Crys,

'Ello love! I can't wait to see you! Papa is extremely excited to come with.

Mom got mad at him for burning a hole in the lab floor and brought up the whole Papa-faked-his-death thing. I don't think Mom is very happy with him.

So today Uncle Greg came around (I think John has told you about him. He was the acting DI during all of their adventures). He gave me a turtle. I named it Greg. He got mad at me for naming it that but then I told him that his name was Gregory and the turtle was Greg and that Mymy didn't have all day.

I got in trouble. Mom yelled at me and sentenced me to one whole day without my Chemistry set, but Sherlock gave me some stuff to analyze, an old case. (It was the maid, because no post on Sundays.)

Little Lock is doing well, although I think he's going through Jawn-withdrawal. He swats at little My more often and hid in my suitcase (I think I might have one of his jumpers, Little Lock's doing I'm guessing, seeing as he was asleep on it.). I found My hiding in the umbrella stand, true to his namesake. And I had to save Sherlock from HIS namesake, because he went in the lab and ate one of Papa's spare fingers (Thank God it wasn't one he experimented on).

I have more info to share about the past. Mommy filled me in and I found Papa's old journal. (There's some juicy stuff in here Crys. We're gonna have a field day!)

See you soon love! Sherlock, Mycroft, Papa, Greg and I will be there on the twentieth.

With all my deductions,

Emelia Genevieve Holmes

Crystal leapt out of her chair, "Da, when did you book the train tickets for Em and them?" She was buzzing with excitement. A new Holmes-Watson artifact had been unearthed, and Em wouldn't have bothered mentioning it if it wasn't relevant.

'Um, a few days from now," Her dad said, rubbing at his temples, "June...8th? Yeah, that sounds about right." She bounded up the stairs, anxious to set up. They had been having camp meetings since they were four and two. When she reached her room, she began searching, hoping that the stuff she needed was in one of the boxes she had bothered to organize. Aha! There it was. She took hold of the slightly heavy box and dashed off to the tree fort in a strange spurt of energy. It would be perfect as a place to hold the secret meetings.

She arranged the blankets and stacked the slight amount of paraphernalia they had collected over the years. It had started as a way to try and be official sisters, but had eventually become real hope. Crys didn't have a mum, and Em got tetchy with hers at times. They had found the perfect solution. That their dads were so blindingly obviously in love with each other. They would meet in undisclosed locations with the same blankets and papers and analyze the evidence. As a final touch, she fixed to the wall a sign that read THE HOLMES-WATSON CAMP FOR JOHNLOCK LOVERS in curlicue letters. There. It was ready for Em now.

On June 8th, Emelia found herself sitting on the train next to her father, who was also nervous. She was getting better at deductions and could read her father's every expression, even though she was only six. It helped that her father's facial expressions were hers as well.

She looked to the carriers both on her lap and next to her. Little Lock had simple refused to sit in the same carrier as Mycroft the cat. Hence why she had Little Lock's carrier on her lap and My's blocking her view of her father's body from the chin down. Her turtle, Greg, was under My's carrier, in a little glass portable terrarium.

She looked around, deducing the boring people in the train car with them, grinning with satisfaction when she realized the sneezing man furthest away was allergic to cats and did NOT have a simple cold.

The train conductor announced their stop was next.

Em and her father stood up, Sherlock taking their bags and Greg's terrarium. She watched with rising excitement as her father effortlessly hailed a cab to bring them to John and Crys's place. She thought about the leather-bound journal that lay in her bag, underneath her zither. She couldn't wait to tell Crys the best stuff she had found yet.

The cab pulled up and Emelia left Sherlock to grab their bags, instead launching herself up the stairs two at a time (made possible by the long legs she had gained from her father), her black waves bouncing as she did. She threw open the door to Crys and John's home and yelled, at the top of her lungs, "WATSON! I'M HOLMES!"

Behind her, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Crys sprung around the corner with her deerstalker on that she wore whenever Sherlock came, to annoy him. She ran towards her best friend, scooping her up into a hug, whispering in her ear in the process, "I've set up camp." Crystal started to run in the correct direction, Em following after, still gripping a cat carrier. Their two fathers looked on in slight confusion as the girls made their way to the tree fort. Crys scrambled up, taking the carrier from Em so she could climb up too.

They both got crazy grins on their face. Crys pulled the hatch back up so that the fort was completely sealed off at all sides as Em opened the carrier and the little cat bolted out, giving his owner a dirty look for having contained him. "Meet my father's feline counterpart. The cat ran from wall to wall, exploring the new environment. The girls both giggled as they watched the hyper little fuzzball dash about.

"He certainly suits his name," Crys agreed before laying down on her designated pillow, which was from her toddler years and smelled like strawberries and was decorated in glitter glue, and looked at her companion, "So, what's this about a journal that I hear may or may not contain pivotal information about our fathers' romantic interests

"Well, my dear Watson, my brilliant father wrote down all, and I mean ALL the small things my father noticed about our dearest John." She reached into her bag and pulled out the worn brown journal. She took one look at her friend and opening it. She began reading:

"John Watson Observations. Occupation Doctor. Served in Afghanistan. Psychosomatic limp in right leg. Shot in right leg. Shot in shoulder. Very loyal very quickly Blonde. Needs flat. Homosexual sister. Uses said sister's old phone. Non-Smoker. Adrenaline junkie. Shoots with right hand. Shoots to kill. Crack shot. Eats toast with too much jam. Likes excessive amounts of jam on toast. Takes tea with milk. Cooks. Defensively heterosexual. Dates pointless women. Cannot keep women straight. Handsome in an odd sort of way Refused to take money from brother. Wears ridiculous jumpers. Does not like experiments next to perishables. Do not touch his jam. Scarily loves jam. Does not like the pin and chip machines at Tesco. Hates using cane. Must burn cane some day. Does not like when not paid attention to. Dislikes me speaking to attractive women. Very much dislikes attractive nude women speaking to me. Makes me very upset when his life is threatened. Must look into this further. -The Tenth of May,2012"

"I bet he's talking about my mother," Em declared, looking at the entry and scowling. Crystal appeared lost in though.

"He does pay a rather large amount of attention to John, Em. Don't get too discouraged. I mean I very much hope that's the only girl he's seen naked." She flipped to the next entry, dated a few days later:

"John takes his coffee black. Most likely resonant of army life. He responds very powerfully to stimuli, especially audile. Did not fear the Hound, even when I did. Very kind. Warm eyes. Makes me feel odd when he looks at me. Must be investigated soon, perhaps through an experiment? He is five feet and six inches tall and makes me look taller. I complimented him today, but they were the words he's used on me, as they were the only ones that came to mind. He says that he is my friend. He is my only friend. I must protect him, no matter the cost. I should buy a new toaster. He doesn't like human remains touching the things we eat."

Em shut the book and filed it in between the David Levithan books and the Percy Jacksons. "Have to make this last all summer," she said in a matter-of-fact tone and reclined against a conveniently placed beanbag chair. Crystal locked eyes with her in a serious manner, and she arched an eyebrow.

"Hate to break this to ya, Em, but Sherlock's on the ceiling..."

"MY FATHER IS WHERE?" Emelia freaked out and looked up... only to laugh at the sight of a very frightened black cat on the ceiling. "Little Lock," she groaned, reaching up to the cat, only to find that she was a few inches short. She looked to her friend with a pleading expression. "Crys... I'm too short."

"I got it," she told her friend, she stood up on her tiptoes and stretched her arms out, and was just able to pull the cat from its resting place, receiving a few scratch marks in the process. Little Lock glared at her. Either he did not like being moved by a strange female, or was angry at being referred to as 'it.' Whatever his reason, the small black cat turned on Crystal, claws out and scratching her arms. Emelia snapped into action immediately and took the raging cat from her friend just before the cat could scratch at her face. As soon as he was out of Crys's arms, Little Lock went limp.

Emelia furiously smacked the cat on the head. "No bad Sherlock, we don't scratch people." She roughly threw the cat back in the cage and yelled at it. "No seeing Jawn 'till tomorrow!" She turned her attention to her best friend, and winced.

"New pets," her friend shrugged, "It happens. Should we head back before suspicion rises too high."

"I'd be able to throw anyone off of my trail, but if you are so quick to return to the land of the adults, I suppose we could go back into the house, I haven't seen John in quite a while. She managed to force Little Lock back into his carrier as Crys opened the hatch as they climbed out, and started the trek back to home for the summer.

Once outside, the girls took their time walking to the house. Emelia opened the door for Crystal and the two friends walked into the kitchen, where Sherlock had apparently been being himself. Emelia immediately saw the worry lines on her friend's father's face. John was looking determinedly into his tea.

Sherlock saw the two girls enter and raised an eyebrow to the cuts on Crys's arms. Emelia raised the cat carrier. "Little Lock didn't appreciate Crys pulling him off the ceiling."

John looked at her. "Little Lock?"

Emelia sighed and set down the carrier. "Is little Jawn in your room?" Crys nodded. "Good." She pulled out the limp black cat, who glared at his name sake. Emelia held him close to her and the cat suddenly looked at John and purred. Emelia laughed and Sherlock mumbled something. "Here, Jawn," (_Oh joy_, John thought, _she sounds just like him_.) you hold him. He wants you to."

John was passed the cat, which curled up on his lap and purred. He tenaciously ran a hand over the black thing's fur. The cat arched up to meet his hand and Sherlock the elder glared furiously at Sherlock the younger.

Out of nowhere, a little brown flash threw itself at Sherlock, causing the tall man to fall off his chair with a shout. Emelia rushed forward and John stood up, jolting the cat that was on his lap. Sherlock the elder was staving off the advances of a fluffy brown dog that was trying to lick his face off. "JAWN! GET THIS THIG OFF OF ME!"

Crystal ran forward and frowned at the dog. "No, bad Jawn we don't attack Sherlock."

"Jawn?"

John sighed. "The dog is Jawn. J-a-w-n. Exactly how you and Emelia say it."

"Jawn." Sherlock laughed. "Jawn has a dog named Jawn."

"Very funny Sherlock."

"Jawn has a Jawn!"

"We get it, Sherlock."

"Ugh! Jawn keeps putting his tongue in my mouth," Sherlock cried out as the girls burst out giggling. "I see where the name dilemma comes from. Girls, I was obviously not talking about the human Jawn, get your common sense together."

"Oh, but it's so much more fun this way," Emelia cackled.

"Why don't you girls go upstairs while I order dinner. God knows Sherlock isn't going to let me cook."

"Sherlock will want to pet Jawn," Emelia quipped.

"Yeah, he's going to want some more hot tongue action from Jawn," Crys added as her and Emelia started going up the stairwell.

"_Upstairs_, Crystal, Emelia." John said firmly. The girls didn't bother to contain their laughter as they made their way into Crys's room.

The bedroom had been quickly decorated upon the girl moving in. Supernovas and stars and planets covered the plaster, and posters and computer printouts of actors and bands were displayed amongst the walls, the two primary features being large posters of Misha Collins and Green Day

"Oh," Emelia sighed, "that was too easy."

Sherlock looked at John, who was currently calling in dinner. The ex-detective looked at the doctor. He was slumped against the counter and had a considerable amount of grey hairs and worry lines. Life had not been kind to John Watson since that day. Sherlock recalled the day with a frown. He remembered being rude to John, screaming that he didn't need his only friend. He recalled with startling clarity how hurt John had looked and how much he had felt afterwards in being alone again, knowing it would come to this eventually, that he would always be left alone. Finally, they were talking again, but it wasn't the same as it had been. It hadn't been the same since he had walked off that building all those years ago and realized how much he needed John with him. How much it had pained him to not have that existence at Baker Street. When he had come back, it had worked... for a bit. Then that uncomfortable pit in his stomach had begun brewing again with much more intensity, and he had to run away, had to leave this thing that was destroying everything he thought he had once known. That knot in his stomach that showed when John looked at him. What was he thinking? He was Sherlock Bloody Holmes, master of his transport and his mind! But the fact remained. John Watson made him feel. It had been a surprise when he came back later that year to find John had adopted a little Afghani girl, and was moving on with life. No wife, Sherlock had noted, but forced himself to shove that thought to the back of his mind. Especially now, when his mind began to wander. He had a wife now, for goodness sake, and a daughter. There was no time to be dwelling on what could have been. The time had been wrong. And not only did his daughter tease him about it, as well as her best friend, but his journal was missing! That journal held everything he'd ever noticed about John Hamish Watson. Plus a few things he did NOT want John to read...

So priority fell to finding that journal again, another mystery since {he did not think Em or Irene would completely understand, least of all take the book,} so it was probably somewhere amongst his cluttered belongings.


	2. The First Autum

**Hey y'all its TwoMoon'sLite. littleblackneko is on vacay for now, so I'm here to update and do review replies. Anyways, here is the first interlude, which is basically just letters from Em to Crys and vice versa. We hope you like it! Also, Happy Red Pants Monday, fellow Sherlockians!**

**Purplepacker, ecrichard : Thanks, we're glad you like it. The whole idea of kitty!lock was my idea, but everything else was a collab. Hope you like this next chap!**

**DISCLAIMER:**** Sadly, we own niether Sherlock or John or any other characters. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the names, but BBC owns these versions. littleblackneko owns Crystal and I own Emelia.**

* * *

Crystal.

Dearest Crystal,

Miss you love. Sherlock (both of them) are being rather boring. Papa decided my pillow would be an excellent place to store severed toes so I am not speaking with him. Instead, I put his acid in a different container. He accidentally put it on a "very important experiment".

Mama is being herself, although she sighs more often.

Sherlock stole one of Jawn's dog toys. Mycroft got stuck in the umbrella stand (the fatty). Greg likes cheeseburgers with mustard and pickled radishes (don't ask).

See you soon, Crys.

OH! And I start school on Monday. I hope that people are nice.

With all my deductions,

Emelia Holmes

P.S. They were not nice. I don't ever want to go again.

* * *

To Emelia Holmes,

I agree. School isn't very fun, never has been. For example, I am writing this while I am supposed to be paying attention to how to do long division. You told me how to do that when you were four, I am so done with these idiots. If you don't go though, you'll have to be homeschooled, which would probably end up being your Uncle Mycroft which would not be fun, since you said that he would usually rather be shagging the DI man (you know what shagging means...I guess I need to censor myself and watch less 'inappropriate material. I won't though...such a rebel.) Dad has been working longer nights, which is good for him I guess because that means more patients. I, however, wish for him to cuddle on the couch and watch old Marvel movies. Snake Jim has been taunting both of the Jawns by leaving the barn at night and crawling up to the window with his tongue out. I wonder what's wrong with your mum (though I think Sherlock would make most people sigh eventually) I was wondering where his toy had disappeared to, that bratty cat. Maybe kitty!My could work out with turtlestrade. Dad has another date again tonight. This is their third one, but I don't think she'll last much longer (they never do). I hate them cuz they just want Dad for his money and degree. I wish you were here so you could deduce her and make sure she stays away... another generation of Holmes ruining his love life because of the ladies' idiocy. I'm about to get caught, so I have to look productive.

With all my feels, Crys Watson

* * *

Watson -

SAVE ME.

NOW.

THESE IDIOTS CRYS.

IDIOTS.

Sherlock talks to me again and Mom is getting bags under her eyes.

Neither knows that I have the journal.

I wish that Mycroft would home school me. I asked but he said no, that Papa had gone through it and so had Mama and so had he and Greg and John, so I would too. (I also know that Greg was en route to My's house, probably to shag. And don't censor Watson, its incredibly Dull...)

Sherlock was impressed by the size of my tantrum afterwards.

I did find kitty!My in turtlestrade's terrarium. Both were asleep. I'm pretty sure Little Lock is worshiping Jawn's toy, he never is seen without it.

Send me a picture and a description of her likes and I shall deduce her for you so she will leave.

Do try not to become a mass murderer before Thanksgiving Crys.

John should know by now that the ladies he dates run away because we force them because we love him. (Especially Papa.)

Gotta go, Little Lock just went in the lab and Papa is already in there. Stupid cat is going to get himself blown up.

With my deductions locked and loaded,

Em Holmes

* * *

My Darling Holmes,

Idiots are the worst. If you came here, there would still be idiots. You could help me kill them.(the not being a mass murderer thing isn't looking so hot). You would think they would know the horridness of public education and not put us through it but, alas, we are stuck in this place where the food tastes like it was made for dogs, and trust me I know exactly how it tastes since a very groggy Dad accidentally had some on his toast yesterday morning because he thought it was his raspberry jam. And I'm surprised they underestimated your Pouty Power, Em .A boy from class stole my poem book yesterday and started to read it so I punched him in the nose. Dad did not have a very good day yesterday, to say the least. Jawn misses Little Lock. He looks at me every morning like he wants me to make the cat appear with my magical powers of being a human. Enclosed is a photograph of the woman I am now calling the Brunette Bitch because she asked my dad why I didn't have a babysitter and started going off about how bad he was at parenting and how irresponsible he was being in thinking I could care for myself. I wanted to punch her too, but Da gave me a pleading look that said 'do nothing'. NO ONE CALLS HIM A BAD FATHER. HOLD BACK NOTHING EM!

With all hopes that no one gets blown up and your parents discuss their underlying emotional issues,

Your Ever Loyal Conductor of Light, Crys

P.S. The boy's name is Donny Anderson. I'm noticing a trend here.

P.P.S. I WANT YOU TO COME BACK NOW HOLMES.

* * *

To My lovely Conductor of Light,

They have underestimated the Pouty Power. Extremely.

They have yet to witness a tantrum yet, but a girl said (quite loudly from the top of the play set) that the reason Papa pretended to die was because John decided he wanted a better shag. I threw her off. Hard.

I would have ripped off her brown pigtails too, but the teacher caught me before I could. Mommy was not pleased. Papa was.

How hard did you punch him? Was there blood? Did you get a sample for me?

You should have punched her anyway.

Little Lock is giving me the same look.

Okay here goes: The Brunette Bitch has Daddy issues (lack of in her case), and is sleeping with 3 other men. She doesn't want John (as you rightly assumed), but once he shags her, she will leave. She has had 2 no 3 abortions and paid for her last shag, at a dirty run-down place. She wears cheap perfume and her "designer" clothes and handbags are cheap knockoffs. She wears too much perfume and has a tendency to be too handsy and grabby. 80% chance she will say the wrong name in bed. She is also a heartless bitch who must be stopped before she undermines Women's Rights completely. READ JOHN THIS EXACT PARAGRAPH.

With hopes that your Dad hasn't made any drastic moves and that Anderson broke his nose,

Your ever-speaking Deduction maker, Em

P.S. I have too. The little girl was Juliet Donovan.

P.P.S. PAPA PURCHESED TRAIN TICKETS FOR YOU AND JOHN TO COME UP FOR CHRISTMAS! AND JAWN AND JIM TOO!

* * *

Dear my Juvenile Detective,

We are doing a 'writing letters' unit in school, but I don't think I could use this for my assignment because the bastards here would not be alright with the cussing and subject matter. I wrote what little girls should talk about for that, and it is so not us. I am noticing a violent streak in us that would be concerning if it weren't _us_. There was blood. Gushing. He has a splint now. I am proud of us (and I took a blood sample for the next time I see you by not washing the shirt I was wearing which I hope is ok, considering that I was being dragged away by the elbow by the headmaster. Of course it bled. I've been being raised by a former soldier!) I don't know how my dad keeps choosing such horrible women...maybe he doesn't want to find someone or something... I hate breaking off something that Da thinks is going well because he always looks so sad after, but in this situation I had too.

Let me the set the scene: It is 11:30 at night and Dad returns home with Bitch in tow. They are snogging and I am wanting to vomit horrendously, so I blast green day on my headphones for a while cuz screw censorship. When I took them off, they were still at it and she was behaving according to your deductions (ironically, her name is Chastity). I needed to end the situation. I wanted to have a nice little sit down with my Da and explain the situation to him so he would dump her, I don't know, the next day. I did however need to stop this situation cuz I was not about to let her screw my dad over. I went and played innocent and told that I'd had a nightmare and needed hot cocoa and a cuddle. He was going to ask her to leave and comply cuz he's great like that, but then she started glaring and Da was getting uncomfortable, and I knew I needed to act fast. I had your letter in my pajama pants pocket, and handed it to her saying 'My friend is a genius' and she read it and he read it over her shoulder, knowing that you are never wrong. He looked at her incredulously and she looked at me and just to be a smartarse I asked her if she would adopt me if they got married. The next bit was a blur. She called me a little bitch and I was rearing back to slug her like you said, but Da grabbed my arm so I couldn't. He was a bit in shock at this point, but it all changed when the next second, she punched me on the cheek. Dad flipped. He grabbed his gun and pointed it at her and called the police. She is now in custody.

ON THE PLUS SIDE, I'M SO EXCITED TO SEE YOU FOR CHRISTMAS

-Crystal

* * *

Crys-

Do not wash your shirt. that works very well for my experiment.

So proud of both my Watsons.

Tell John I said that and I'll hide your Green Day.

SEE YOU SOON

-Em

* * *

Em-

According to Dad, it is not appropriate for me to take Jim to your house, "around your neck where he could have the chance to strangle you to death" They aren't pals. Enclosed are six CDS. Burn yourself copies. Delete the evidence that I abetted you in this manner. Return them to me upon arrival on the twenty-third.

-CW

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**REVIEW PLEASE!**

**~TwoMoon'sLite~**


	3. The First Christmas

**'Ello lovelies! Its TwoMoon'sLite, again. Sorry that we are awful, awful writers for not updating. littleblackneko and I have issues getting to computers sometimes, and we have lives. Minimal lives, but lives nonetheless.**

**(I would also like to add that at the mo, this fanfic is 14 pages in Word. So, be prepared for lovely Sherlocky-ness)**

**We hope you enjoy this next chapter, as one of our favorite lines happens to be in this chapter.**

**DISCLAIMER:**** Sadly, we own neither Sherlock or John or any other characters. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the names, but BBC owns these versions. littleblackneko owns Crystal and I own Emelia.**

* * *

The doorbell rang again. Emelia stayed in the armchair. She was sitting in it completely upside-down, her head hanging off the chair and her feet straight in the air. Her father was, of course, laying on the couch in his thinking pose. Neither Holmes looked at Irene as she bustled about getting ready for the Christmas party.

Crystal was not here.

Greg got here before her.

This was unacceptable.

Then a kind voice floated in through the foyer. "Oh, hello there. I'm Mrs. Hudson, you must be Irene. You're even more beautiful than Sherlock said. Where is he? I have his Christmas present, as well as for the little one."

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson," her father rose from the couch and Emelia sat upright. Who was this woman who Papa stopped thinking for? "Looking lovely as ever."

"Oh Sherlock, dearie, you look great. Now then, what's this I've been hearing about another you running around?"

"Ah yes. Emelia, come here."

She obeyed. The kind old woman didn't look threatening. She took a second look, deducing her

"Oh look at that! She's doing that thing you do Sherlock."

"Yes. She does it to all new faces now."

Emelia decided the old woman was no threat. "Who ARE you? You're not Grandma Holmes. And you have no children."

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, dear. I was your father's landlady."

"Okay... Why are you here?"

"Sherlock invited me."

Emelia narrowed her eyes. "Fine. But I'm not calling you grandma."

"I wouldn't expect you to, dear."

Em looked at her father. "The old woman can stay."

She ignored her mother's cries and went back to her chair. She heard her father apologize, but the old woman shrugged it off.

Emelia awoke to a small brown thing licking her face. "EW! JAWN STOP!"

She wriggled about, trying to escape this small, slobbering dog. This, however, only ended in her lying on her back with a sore head. "Jawn, save the tongue action for Sherlock, please."

Crys's face appeared above her. "Need help?"

"Watson, get this dog off me."

"Yes, Holmes." She removed Jawn, who immediately decided to repeat his actions with Sherlock.

"Ewwwwwwwwwww... that was gross."

Emelia looked around and saw that the family had arrived. "Hi ya."

John smiled at her. Greg and Mycroft ignored her.

Sherlock the cat was now being thoroughly licked by Jawn, with the older Sherlock glaring at them, hair sticking up from where Jawn had just licked it.

Her comrade grinned widely, flopping down next to Em on the couch, "Took you long enough," the little Holmes groaned as she sat up and used her expensive sweater as a towel. The old woman was now talking to John, she noticed. Must been the landlady back at 221B. Crys noticed, too, as her dad motioned her over. She dragged Em along with her because strangers are terrifying.

"This is my daughter, Crystal, Mrs. H."

"Pleasure to meet you", the girl said timidly

"Okay, now she's met everyone. Can we goooooo? I have an experiment set up that may or may not explode!" Emelia practically shouted, impatient. Didn't they know how much it could help them if she was right?

"Fine, fine."

"YES!" Emelia grabbed Crystal and all but dragged the girl to her room. "The shirt, THE SHIRT CRYS."

Crys sighed at the commonplace behavior, "Hello to you, Emelia." She unzipped her travel bag and dug through before uncovering the old shirt wrapped in plastic and handing it over to her waiting friend.

She poured four different mixtures on the shirt and carefully watching them. "Interesting." She looked at Crys. "Nothing works better than ammonia." She was about to continue her work when littleCroft hopped up onto the lab table and started rubbing his head against Emelia's shoulder

"DAMNITT MY, YOU ALREADY ATE, QUIT GETTING CAT HAIR ON MY EXPIREMENT YOU SODDING FATARSE!"

There was silence from downstairs, and then John popped his head in. "Umm... Em?"

"FOR GODS SAKE WHAT?"

"We could hear you yelling. And swearing."

"So?"

"Em, that's not something that should come out of a six-year-old's mouth."

Emelia gave him a look, one that he had seen frequently on an ex-detective's face. "Really John? Must I point out that you probably could make a sailor blush with your mouth?"

"Emelia, that is not the point."

"Dad, you aren't seriously thinking you can win an argument with Emelia? That would be like trying to get Sherlock to not insult Anderson."

"Just keep it down, alright? Don't traumatize everyone. And maybe apologize to Mycroft the human."

Meanwhile downstairs, the adults were gathered in the dining room. Irene was blushing, mainly because everyone could hear the dialogue upstairs. Sherlock was smiling smugly, clearly pleased at his daughter. Greg was watching Mycroft, who was talking to Mrs. Hudson. No one seemed to notice that Greg was flat out staring at the back of Mycroft's head, nor did they notice My's faint blush. If they did notice, they attributed the strange coloring to the fact that his niece had just yelled at the cat bearing his name and called said cat a "sodding fatarse". Mycroft did swivel around to look at Greg, who winked at the Elder Holmes, an action overlooked by most. (Sherlock, of course picked it up, but ignored it and filed it away for blackmail).

After a very delicious dinner (Irene can do more that look good, as it turns out), everyone opened their presents. Most were meaningless, and Mycroft actually gave the girls the expected bound copies of the laws of Parliament, from the birth of Britain. Mrs. Hudson was possibly the best gift-giver Em had ever known.

The old woman had gotten her a violin and Crystal a collection of old medical journals

But the biggest surprise was that the gifts had once belonged to their fathers.

"Mrs. H, where did you find all these?'

"I was cleaning up the old flat and found them, John"

"These are great!" Crys exclaimed.

Emelia sat and just pet the violin. Then she looked at the old woman and hugged her. "Thank you so much, Nana."

"You're absolutely welcome, Emelia."

"WAIT." Crystal shoved the violin at Sherlock.

"What do you want to me to do with this?"

"Play. Something Christmassy."

"Please, Papa?"

Sherlock sighed in defeat and began to play different Christmas carols, to which the family sang to, even though Crys sounded like a shrieky duck.

It was a good Christmas.


	4. The First Spring

**Hi everybody! I'm TwoMoon'sLite, and your reading Seasons of Our Hearts! I have a special announcement to make: littleblackneko and I love y'all! We write knowing you read.**

**As this is me, I would like to remind you to Review please, as it makes me sad when I do not get any. A sad me = a declining quality of Johnlock that I can write. P.S. I know you're reading this! All 15 of you! So review goshdangit!**

**DISCLAIMER:**** Sadly, we own neither Sherlock or John or any other characters. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the names, but BBC owns these versions. littleblackneko owns Crystal and I own Emelia.**

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INTERLUDE 2

My Dearest Em,

Allow me to quote you by saying that it is very boring back at home. Dad is doing that thing again where he writes the letter to the Afghani orphanage that sent me to him. He always asks if there's anything I want to say, but like what is he expecting from me? My parent(s) were treated by him during wartime and later my parents had a kid and later they had a kid and were like HEY it's probably a good idea to make sure she doesn't get blown up, that doctor man was nice, let's ask the military people caring for orphans if they can send her to him. Should I be all like "Hey, thanks for giving me a good dad and making sure I'm not dead."? Ugh. I'm not in the mood to deal with this. How's life at your end over in London? Everyone still being an idiot? Greg and My confess their undying love yet? (The humans, I mean. We know about the animal's undying love already. How is it that a TURTLE moves faster than them?)

Signed with the hopes of summer,

Crys

P.S. I think Sherlock was sleeping in my suitcase because there was HAIR EVERYWHERE! Get your cats to stop shedding.

* * *

Dearest Crystal,

No, it is not any better here. So boring. Although Papa has been teaching me violin. I can play the scale!

I think he is trying to ask if you want to tell them that John is a good dad and stuff, how old you are blah blah blah.

Yes, everyone is an idiot. Especially Juliet Donavan.

SPEAKING OF: I punched her. I remember that one time I watched you punch somebody, who had called me stupid. So when I punched her, I broke her nose. And then she gave me a black eye, so I pulled her hair. I did it for a reason though! She said you were a figment of my imagination because no one would want to be friends with the freak's daughter.

Are you proud of me?

Greg and Mymy have not admitted their undying love (although I've decided I'm going to plan a wedding for the cat and turtle).

Signed with dreams of the camp,

Em

P.S. If I could control my cats' shedding, do you think that thing would have happened at Christmas?

* * *

A LETTER TO ONE EMELIA HOLMES

I CALL BEING IN THE WEDDING PARTY FOR KITTY!MY AND TURTLESTRADE! Enclosed is a picture of me flipping her off, ask her how real that looks! Good job, Em! Though it doesn't take a consulting detective to deduce how old I am, I did tell him to say from me that he was a good dad. He got all misty-eyed and we hugged for a bit. I'm going to guess you don't do that kind of stuff with your dad... And speaking of idiots, Anderson needs to shut his mouth, it's burning away my brain cells. I might duct tape it pretty soon if this trend continues.

-Crystal Watson

P.S. You know our families. Probably.

P.P.S. Last time you mentioned Donovan, she was making fun of your father's fake suicide...what exactly happened with that? Dad never will talk about it.

* * *

CRYS-

YOU WILL BE THE MAID OF HONOR. They don't make tuxes for turtles, so I'm just having Greg wear a tie.

I showed the picture to Donavan. She went all slack jawed and then went and cried to her friends that I was mean. AND THEN THIS KID TOLD HER TO SHUT HER BIG MOUTH AND TAKE HER RETALIATION LIKE HER MOM WOULD- IN SILENCE! His name is AJ. He is now my friend.

Of course I don't do that stuff with my dad, Crys. The best we got was that ONE time he let me sleep with him and Mom when I had a nightmare. And that only happened once.

I'm sending a roll of duct tape to you in this box. Tell him Sherlock says to tell his dad he's an idiot.

-Emelia Holmes

P.S. Yea...

P.P.S. WELL... Papa had to jump off a hospital because Moriarty had snipers following Mrs. H, your dad and Greg the human. John took it hard because he had just started to get used to Sherlock being... well, Sherlock. Papa went and faked his death so no one got shot and then went about killing Moriarty's people. He came back, but John was not happy with him. Eventually, Papa snapped and John moved out. Papa started dating Mama, and the rest, my dear Watson, is history.

* * *

To my lovely Emelia,

I AM SO EXCITED FOR OUR INTERSPECIES WEDDING! Let's hope there will another similar to it in the near future. I like your new friend. He pleases me greatly. I told the boy what you said and that his daddy couldn't find a clue if it bit him in the ass. I think he cried. That also pleased me. I wonder what other people would think if they looked inside our lives and saw the battlefield of crazy... We could stand at the gates and be all like COME IF YOU DARE! I think the fact that your dad would be willing to do that shows that he cares a bit more than he lets on, just not all on the outside like us Watsons do. Something about how they are now, your dad and mine, just seems a bit off...have you noticed?

-Crystal C. Watson

P.S. I want to take you to like parent teacher conferences here so you can be all like "Anderson, so we meet again," in that Holmesian manner of yours to his dad and him. I think I would die laughing.

* * *

To Crystal-

I AM EXCITED TOO. I also wish this.

I like this AJ too. I am proud of you and disappointed in Anderson. Loser.

You are exactly right. I think maybe we need to pay a visit to Uncle Mymy at his office, don't you? he'll have the answers!

-Em Holmes

P.S. Can we? I'd love to just freak them out like that. You probably would Crys, you probably would.

* * *

Dearest Emelia,

When you come for the summer we absolutely must investigate. Use your snooping skills to find where Mister Poppins keeps his umbrella and rules the world. I mean, he'll probably have old records of our dads! Imagine them, all young and such. Maybe we can even see what they looked like as kids MWAHAHAHAHA! See you very soon and we can plan our investigation.

-Crys

* * *

Sweet Crys,

Mr. Poppins will be glad to help us, I believe. He's always giving Papa the I-know-something-you-don't look. Baby Sherlock and John... not sure if cute or remotely disturbing that my uncle has those pictures and such.

Also, Nana Hudson found me reading some of our old correspondence. She agrees with us, said that she saw it BEFORE THE FALL. I have no clue what The Fall is, as she, Papa and Mama refused to tell me. Damn adults. But I think it's the turning point we've been looking for. And Nana agreed to join the Camp, as well as search for more proof at the flat. I've decided that I will live there one day and Nana said she must start hiding the chemicals and "Holmes-proofing" the Papa and John's old flat. I glared and she LAUGHED.

Oh and Uncle My says to ask you to tell John to vote for him for Parliament or whatever.

With all my deductions,

Emelia Genieive Holmes

P.S. Conference date? I can sneak over to execute Operation: Andersons.

* * *

Salutations my partner in being awesome,

Your answer is that it is highly disturbing...but it is your uncle. I vote blackmail on our fathers. WTF happened with this freaking fall, I swear they make it out like it's sort of explicit TV drama with you know drugs and murder and sex and subtext. I mean why don't they just explain what happened...? We're their own kids FOR MISHA'S SAKE! This shall be discussed at the next club meeting. We should get an official schedule book and write it in the official schedule book. Our club is reaching for the stars...I apologize, I'm on a sugar high right now and I make no sense... and Operation: Anderson is totally go.

Tata, Em...-Crystal

p.s... we should flat share. Just like the old days.

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**Pretty, pretty, pretty please, with Johnlock and Mystrade on top, Review!**

**Please, my readers?**

**~TwoMoon'sLite~**


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